


Smash and Grab

by freakylemurcat



Series: Complicity [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Seduction, i love Q's cardigans really, okay maybe a bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Bond found suave wasn’t entirely the most reliable option. Sometimes the smash and grab approach was far, far better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smash and Grab

Sometimes Bond found suave wasn’t entirely the most reliable option. Sometimes the smash and grab approach was far, _far_ better.

His seduction of Q was an excellent case in point.

He had done everything. Every _goddamned_ _thing_. He had bantered and purred and leered and brought presents of tea and computer chips and he had even brought some of his own equipment back undamaged. He even brought _himself_ back undamaged the other week. He had worn his best suits and his tightest shirts and flexed as many muscles as he possible could without striking a bodybuilder’s pose. And Q had stared at him and blushed and given him surreptitious once overs and licked those wide, pretty lips with a kitten pink tongue, and done absolutely fuck all about it.

It had gotten him nowhere. If he was a lesser man, he might despair, but James Bond was nothing if not persistent.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fancy giving me a blowjob?” he announced as he walks into Q’s office. All that was visible of the quartermaster was his perky little arse, and the worn soles of his shoes as he fiddled with something until his desk, and there was an almighty thump of skull to metal as the young man jumped in shock.

Q retreated from his task, rubbing the back of his head with a grim expression, and fixed James with a terrifying stare. The young man had learnt well, but Bond still grinned back cheeky and unperturbed.

“ _What_ did you just say?” said Q, every word very precisely set out in his clipped accent.

“I asked,” said Bond, quirking an eyebrow, “If you fancied giving me a blowjob.”

Q stared, less terrifying and more utterly baffled. “Strangely no, double-oh-seven,” he said finally, turning back to his work with one final confused look at the agent.

Bond shrugged and wandered out; this had merely been the first foray.  

 

* * *

 

 

Next day, Bond shook it up a bit. He didn’t want to come on too strong and chase his target off – Q definitely wanted a shag, the image of that tongue creeping across that full lower lip springs to James’ mind unbidden, but he was uncertain about it all the same – so a little flirting will keep him calm and keep James’ skills well-practised.

He waited around until ten, which was when Q consistently drained the cold dregs of his tea and started to make noises about needing more. James counted down to the hour and wandered into Q branch innocently, nodding to some of the assistants he recognised and being careful not to slosh the full mug of Earl Grey  in his hand too much.

Q was typing away ferociously when James let himself into the Quartermaster’s office, and only glanced about briefly.

“You’re ten minutes late,” said Q, reaching out a hand without looking away from his computer. His fingers trembled just centimetres from where James was holding the tea, but the agent didn’t move forward. “I can already feel the caffeine withdrawals.”

“Some men have women and alcohol as vices,” James said, shifting the mug so it’s now only millimetres from Q’s fingertips. “You have tea and terrible cardigans." 

Q finally looked away from his computer and fixed Bond with a wry look, plucking the mug from his grip and taking a contented sip. “My cardigans are considered quite stylish in some circles I’ll have you know. And I have been known to dabble in some light espionage, when the mood takes me.”

Bond snorted and leant over the shorter man’s shoulder as he sipped his tea to examine the computer. “What on earth are you working on, Q?” He rumbled extra huskily just for Q’s benefit, and then smiled when the young man stiffened and swallowed audibly.

“Code,” said Q, voice breathy for a second before he cleared his throat and repeated himself. “Code for biometric sensors. It’s all a bit hard to explain.”

“Try me,” purred James. It was true that he didn’t understand many of the words that proceeded to spill out of Q’s mouth, certainly not in the order they were placed in, but he certainly enjoyed listening to them, all enthusiasm and intelligence. And it meant that Q was less inclined to send him packing, at least for a little while.

 

* * *

 

“Changed your mind about that blowjob yet?”

This time Q dropped a tray of spanners and swore as several bounced off his toes. His shoes, which were decently smart today, obviously didn’t offer much protection and he cursed magnificently.

“ _What_?” Q looked up from clutching at his injured digits and spared a hand to point imperiously to the scattered collection of tools; Bond bent to pick them up with a roll of his eyes. He purposely didn’t set them back in order of size on the tray and smirked when Q bodily pushed him out of the way to rearrange them. “Now you’ve finished terrifying me, Bond, what do you want?”

“I wanted to know if you had changed your mind about giving me that blowjob yet,” he said and sprang back instinctively when Q wielded the largest spanner at him.

“Get out,” he said, “Before I teach you the meaning of ‘testicular torsion’.”

Bond already knew, so he left just as quickly as he arrived.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Q was attempting to fix Moneypenny’s fax machine – which had apparently swallowed a whole sheaf of paper at once, neatly choking itself in the process – when Bond wandered in the next time. He had spent most of the day proving he was capable of shooting other people in the head, and his blood sand with the adrenaline rush even if his opponents were only cardboard.

“I didn’t think you were in charge of office maintenance,” Bond purred, cocking his hip against the table and tilting his head to catch a glimpse of Q’s underwear as his shirt rode up.

“I thought you were off shooting things.” Q gave him a quick glance, eyes widening briefly when he spotted that Bond was wearing his jogging trousers and a gratuitously tight t-shirt. His gaze lingered on the light trail of sweat that stuck the flimsy fabric to Bond’s abs and that tongue flickered out again. Bond had to clench his fist in his pocket at the sight.

“I even managed to hit most of them.” He leaned in a bit, until his breath was whispering against Q’s ear. “You could reward me for it.”

With an almighty grinding of plastic and gears, Q wrenched the paper out of the fax and shoved it into James’ face. “If you’re going to crowd my space, you can make yourself useful.”

James would admit that he hadn’t really wanted to spend half an hour helping to repair pieces of office equipment, but it was still a half an hour of being able to loom into Q’s personal space and watch those long fingers tapping and crooking and coaxing life out of machines that wanted to be dead.

There was something oddly erotic about his way of working. Q worked quickly and efficiently and with always a slightly worried look in his big dark eyes, like he was afraid he was going to fuck something up even if what he was working on was a printer. And he _concentrated._ Dear _god_ , the man concentrated until his brow trembled and his eyes twitched with the strain. And when James timed it just right, he could use this concentration to his advantage and lean down over Q’s shoulders, nose tickled by the man’s dark curls.

Q didn’t notice for a whole five minutes – or at least he didn’t care -  and Bond was so pleased by his brief success he didn’t even bother to ask for his blowjob on his way out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A bullet cracked off the wall above Bond’s head, shrapnel scoring a line across his cheek, and he cursed quietly at the sting. First blood drawn this mission, which wasn’t bad at all when you considered that he was in what he intended to be his final shootout. He had already taken out three of the enemy minions, and he’d got the stolen documents tucked neatly in his suit jacket, but there was another bloody two of them that he couldn’t quite pin down. 

“Q?” he said, tapping his earpiece once and glancing around for any flashes of dark metal. “Are you there?”

“I’m always here,” said Q dryly, after a brief silence. “I never have anything better to do than listen to you be shot at.”

“Well, put yourself to more use and watch me be shot at instead, would you.” Bond fired back at a flash of gunfire from the corner of a nearby building, but growled, frustrated, when the bullet exploded into the brick instead.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a CCTV camera on a nearby supermarket start to swivel, and Q hummed in his ear.

“Well, you’re in a sticky situation there, double-oh-seven.” There was a brief pause and Q added, “I could create a distraction?”

This meant exploding something in a huge manner. Bond may or may not have already caused quite a lot of collateral damage already, and he suspected M was going to give him a bollocking as it already stood. “Let’s go light on the explosions today. Just tell me where they are.”

“First man is across the road, hiding in the front door of that hotel.”

Bond nodded brusquely. This was the man he was shooting at earlier. “Those windows aren’t bullet proof are they?”

“I would sincerely doubt it,” said Q, and Bond shuffled to the side, spotted the blurry shape of his target through the glass of the hotel and revolving door on the other wall. It would be a bad shot, but it would do. The man collapsed in a shower of glass a second later and Q spoke without being prompted. “Second man is coming up on your right. He’ll come around the corner….”

Bond aimed the gun, smiling as his hand held steady and his aim true.

“ _Now_!”

The man popped out, and Bond fired twice. The man went down heavily, a spray of blood pluming from his throat.

“Well done, double-oh-seven,” said Q.

Bond saluted his thanks to the CCTV camera as he ran past. There were already sirens in the near distance, and MI6 had no jurisdiction here. “How about that blowjob now?”

Q sighed. “If you can evade the police thundering down the road and bring me back at least some of my equipment, I might think about thinking about it.”

Bond grinned to himself – he was definitely making headway now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bond arrived back in England too late the next day to report immediately, but instead spent the night in an airport hotel, trying not to think too much about Q’s wide mouth and the potentiality of that promise.

The next morning was a fuzz of reporting, debriefing and then finding himself at a bit of a loose end. Post-mission, he was always a bit lost until he was cleared for duty, but today he reminded himself he had a target in MI6 again.

Q was talking exuberantly to 005 when James entered Q branch, gesticulating slightly wildly with a free hand, while the other was weighed down with a strap laden with a gun and several modern looking grenades. James looked on, watching the grenades longingly – Q could be remarkably stingy with the explosives for a man who clearly enjoyed destruction as much as he did – until 005 sauntered out.

The quartermaster was evidently not expecting to have one 00-agent replaced immediately with another, but to his credit, he didn’t jump too much this time. He did clench a hand around the grip of the gun instinctively, which Bond found inexplicably attractive, and then rolled his eyes and set the weapons down on his desk.

“And what have you got to give me today, double-oh-seven?” Q always said his codename in such a precise, clipped fashion that James could hear the words sliding into place rather than the digits.

“A gun.” He set it down and extracted something from his pocket. “And a radio.”

Q looked askance at him for a second, until he leered back.

“And yes…” He flicked the pen out of his breast pocket and clicked it to display the bristling wires that protruded from the tip. “Your lock-picking pen. Still intact.”

“I’m becoming less and less sure that you are actually James Bond.” Q took the pen with a delighted little smile and set it down like it was precious.

“How could I convince you? How about this then –“ James leant in and said, “You promised you’d think about giving me a blowjob.”

“Oh, good,” said Q dryly, his face barely twitching. “It is you.”

“You did say you’d think about it,” James reminded him pointedly.

“I said I’d _think_ about thinking about it.”

He rolled his eyes and said, “Can we cut out at least one of the rounds of thinking?”

Q blinked slowly and said, “Perhaps.” It wasn’t James’ imagination:  the young man did look interested, like he was considering every inch of Bond’s stance over the rims of his clunky glasses. “I’m still not sure what would be in it for me.”

“A chance to practise a few more _physical_ skills,” said James, growling a little in the way he knew made Q shudder a little.

“I’ll have you know I’ve given more than a few blowjobs in my time.” The quartermaster paused and clapped a hand to his face with a groan. “ _Why_ did I just tell you that?!”

Because you tell me everything, thought Bond but he said nothing. Q told him everything eventually, even if he had to hunt the information out with all the dexterity those nimble fingers could wield, even if he didn’t actually say anything. Even now, Q was standing tall and proud as he blushed, his pupils huge behind those glasses, and when James stepped close into his personal space he didn’t move away.

Q looked up, blush lighting his cheeks nicely. He’d look better flushed with orgasm, all mussed up and dirtied, thought Bond.

“Why are you so determined?” growled  Q suddenly, prodding James hard in the chest. “What do you want from me? Aside from that bloody blowjob.”

James caught the long fingers in his hands, squeezing lightly until the bones shifted slightly under his grip. To his surprise, there were faint calluses on the young man’s finger tips, little burns and scars on his palms, and James turned the hand over to inspect the marks.

“I just want you,” he said, looking up.

“You are insane,” Q muttered, but his gaze was now locked on James’. “Deranged. They warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” purred James, leaning in carefully. His lips brushed the corner of Q’s wide, pretty lips and he growled hungrily.

“Huh,” said Q, intelligently, and suddenly he was kissing James back, his free hand fisting in the agent’s shirt and tie.  It was a sloppy, messy kiss, mouths sliding together without much finesse, Q’s tongue slipping into James’ mouth without any warning. James growled again and bit down on that full bottom lip, until Q whimpered quietly.

They pulled apart, and James realised that he’s got Q shoved up against his desk, spine bent backwards at a very awkward angle, their hips grinding together. He met Q’s sharp gaze, and they grinned at each other, neither of them regretting the situation they had wrangled each other into.

“Shall we?” Bond nosed the angle of Q’s jaw, smirking at the faint rasp of stubble against his skin. Already his fingers were drifting to the loop of the younger man’s belt buckle, where it was chinking against his own.

“I am not giving you a blowjob in my office,” snapped Q, placing both hands on Bond’s stomach and trying to push him away. He only succeeded in wedging himself more firmly against the table, and James couldn’t help but laugh.

“Where else do you have planned?” James’ hands still rested on the temptation of the belt buckle, but he didn’t move yet.

Q gave him a highly unimpressed look and his hands slid up over James’ shirt, from his belly, his chest, to wrap up over his shoulders, scrape through the short hair at the back of his neck. “My place then.”

“Where?” growled James, ready to throw Q over his shoulder right then and cart him off.

Q kissed him hard again and then ducked and twisted with sudden enviable grace, slipping out of James’ grip like a fish. He put the desk between them and leant forwards across it, supporting himself on his spread fingers. James leant forward too, so when Q next spoke, his Earl Grey scented breath brushed over the older man’s lips.

“You’re the secret agent. You figure it out.” He whipped away and grinned cheekily. “I’ll be home at midnight.”

If Bond hadn’t been so intent on fucking Q into the mattress, he thought he might strangle the little brat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Q’s apartment was cold and dark and contained quite a few dead plants. James stalked a circuit around the little place, and noted the collection of impressive security measures – including the thing that looked  like an electronic bear trap that nearly took his foot off when he had shimmied through a window – and the huge safe stuck in the back of a cupboard. He poked about at the door for a while for want of anything else to do, discovered that if he ever really wanted to find out what was inside he would be better blowing the whole thing to pieces and sifting through the remains rather that attempting to overcome that fiendish little lock, and then went to use Q’s shower instead.

Freshly clean and smelling of Q’s remarkably expensive body wash, James dozed on the quartermaster’s bed with his borrowed towel draped over his hips. The cool of the air kept him more awake than he cared to be, but he managed to sink into a comfortable state of unconsciousness while still being awake enough to know he was sleeping.

When Q returned, long after midnight after all, James sprang to wakefulness quickly, shuffling up to lean against the headboard and trying not to look too eager. The quartermaster clattered around for a while – presumably resetting the bear trap – and then slipped through into the bedroom.

Dropping his bag on the floor and shrugging his god-awful coat off, Q gave him a silent once over and then smiled. Bond’s fingers itched to unbutton that dreadful cardigan and the rumpled shirt beneath, especially when Q whipped the creased tie off from around his slim neck. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, toeing his shoes off and kneeling up on the bed.

“I’ve been in worse places. Do you ever turn the heating on?” said Bond, spreading his legs a bit further apart so Q could crawl up between them.

“The cold preserves the plants.”

“Water would preserve them better,” said Bond, reaching out to undo the first few buttons of Q’s shirt. “Rather than attempting to flash freeze them.” His hands drifted down further and paused on the edge of the young man’s belt again, thumbs rubbing over the buckle. “Come here…”

Q paused and then leant down, long fingered hands bracing on Bond’s shoulders. His breath tickled against James’ cheek, and then their stubble rasped together, as he nipped at James’ ear lobe and nibbled his jawline, nails of one hand scratching up through the short hair at the base of James’ neck.

“Stop your teasing,” growled James, hands clamping down on the man’s bony hips and pulling him closer. Q yelped and then chuckled, rubbing his nose against James’ in an oddly affectionate manner, his mouth just slightly too far away. James growled again and lunged in for the kiss, their teeth clacking with the force as their mouths collided. It was even sloppier than their first kiss, but James liked it that way, rough and forceful, full of teeth and tongue and the heated press of those wide lips against his own. He bit down hard on Q’s lower lip, until the quartermaster pulled back and all James could focus on were those lovely lips, reddened with friction.

“Want that blowjob now?” asked Q, reaching up to pluck his glasses off. James stopped him and pushed the thick frames back up the young man’s nose with a careful finger.

“Keep them on,” he said firmly, and Q gave him a knowing look before he slid back down. Those clever hands trailed down James’ bare chest and carefully unwrapped the towel from about his waist, thumbs hooking across his hipbones and following the contours down to where James really wanted things to be focused.

The stubble of Q’s chin rubbed along the top of James’ thigh, soft lips smiling against his skin, and James rolled his eyes and twined his fingers into Q’s thick locks to direct his attentions to his cock.

“You are bloody impatient,” said Q, his breath now washing warmly over James’ aching erection. He had been throbbing hard since Q had whipped his tie off and knelt up on the bed; for fucking months he had been thinking about this moment, when that mouth would be wrapped about his cock.

“Can you blame me?” grunted James, hips jerking up. Chuckling wickedly, Q parted his lips and that delightful kitten pink tongue lapped out and slicked along the underside of James’ cock. “ _Q_ …”

Q laughed again, and he repeated the action slowly, until James tightened his fingers in the soft hair as a warning. With a huff of breath, Q lifted the man’s stiff cock up off his belly, where it had been dripping eagerly; thin fingers wrapped about its girth and essayed a curious stroke up and down, returning to the tip to spread the slick precome down his length and pump more firmly.

“So you want that blowjob then?” asked Q, propping his chin cheekily on James’ thigh and giving his cock a few more hard strokes.

“Yes, you little cock tease,” grunted Bond, giving the man’s hair another warning tug. “Get that fuckable little mouth around my cock and suck me off.”

“They said you were meant to be _suave_ , Mr Bond…” But Q licked his lips and did as he was told. His mouth closed about the head of James’ cock, tongue swirling about the tip and lapping up the slick of precome; his cheeks hollowed as he sucked hard and James shuddered. With a growl, he pressed down on Q’s head and leered as the quartermaster ducked his head and took Bond’s cock down to the base.

“God…” His hips jerked upwards again and Q made a warning little choked noise as the cock in his mouth hit the back of his throat. His wicked tongue lathed the underside, tracing throbbing veins firmly, and he cast a mischievous look up to James as he began to bob his head. “Yeah, that’s good…” He kept the light pressure on Q’s head, controlling the pace initially until his quartermaster’s eyes began to water with the need to breath.

Q jerked his mouth up, panting, a thin trail of saliva connecting his tongue and James’ cock until he licked his swollen lips and ducked back down again. This time he didn’t bother with the teasing and the waiting around; he wrapped one hand around the base of Bond’s cock, the other fondling his balls softly, and going straight to sucking.

“ _Hmmph_..!” Bond squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden sensory overload, and tried to lie back and enjoy the sensation of being blown. It had been too long though – he had been chasing Q relentlessly for months now, with very few mission based seductions either, and the reality of having those plush lips wrapped tightly about his cock was intensely pleasurable. And Q _really_ did know how to give a blowjob.

There was just enough messy slickness from his spit to smooth Q’s lips on their almost frantic journey stroking up and down his cock, but not enough to rob the act of the friction that had James’ thighs tightening with pleasure. What he wouldn’t have given to be able to enjoy the feeling for a little longer, but now Q was looking up at him, eyes wide and pleased behind those glasses, and James barely had time to grunt a warning. Q pulled his mouth off with an obscene pop and pumped the hand gripping the base of James’ cock, grinning wickedly. With another low grunt and a jerk of his hips, muscles seizing tight up and down his legs, James let his orgasm wash over him. As he watched, gaze fuzzy with the pleasure, Q’s face – pink and flushed, chin dripping with his own spit and James’ precome – was decorated with a pretty, slick pattern of white.

“Get up here…” James growled as soon as he could feasibly speak again, reaching down and physically towing Q up his body. The man was flushed, almost looking as wrecked as Bond felt, but James didn’t intend to help the situation. He made short work of the quartermaster’s belt and flies, not even bothering to remove those unfortunately patterned trousers and what appeared to be superhero briefs before he fisted Q’s cock and began to stroke him quickly. “Come for me, Q…”

“Mmhh!” Q bit down on his lower lip, long fingers pressing hard against James’ chest. He looked desperate and undone, and James laughed, low and pleased, as his quartermaster shook and came with a strangled moan. He stayed kneeling over James for a moment, panting and looking like the world like a man in the throes of desperate prayer, and then collapsed sideways onto the bed.

They lay in companionable silence for a long while, until the cool in the bedroom bit through James’ post-coital comfort. Glancing over, he casually elbowed Q in the side and waited patiently until the quartermaster  regained control of his neck muscles and looked up. His glasses were wonky across the bridge of his nose, digging uncomfortably into the side of his face. James carefully plucked the glasses off, folded the legs up carefully under Q’s slightly unfocused gaze, and set them aside.

“I’m going to need another shower,” he said.

Q yawned sleepily and said, “You really only have yourself to blame.”

James wiped absently at the drying spots on his belly and chest. “I’m fairly sure this was actually you.”

“You’re the one who jerked me off.” Q yawned again, rolling onto his back. His fingers clumsily fumbled at the remaining buttons on his shirt, while his feet pawed at his own shins, trying to drag his trousers off.

With a fond growl, James lent his help to Q’s attempt to strip, hauling his trousers off, grimacing at the pattern and then tossing them to the floor. “I’m glad to see orgasms don’t dim your snideness.”

“Ha ha.” Q sat up reluctantly, hauled his shirt off by force, shimmied his briefs off, and flopped back down. His hip encountered the slightly damp towel that had previously been wrapped about James’ own hips and he scowled until James removed it and fetched the duvet instead.

“Happier now, you picky sod?” He cast a heavy arm across Q’s waist and closed his eyes. For now, he was content to have a nap and sleep off the last of his orgasm. “Half an hour, and we can have a shag then?”

Q merely snored in return. James was content to take that as a yes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be short and porny, and then it sort of developed legs and stumpy feelings and crawled under my desk and I had to poke it with more words to make it come out. 
> 
> ANYWAYS! Yay, new fandom! So many amazing writers here, who do all the feels so fucking well. All I can bring is terrible humour and some porn. So much porn.


End file.
